Rise Like Dragons
by Alfie949
Summary: What if Sansa had been older, and Joffrey's marriage had gone off without a hitch?  Winter is Coming, With Fire and Blood.  Includes other characters, but centers around Sansa and Tyrion.  Includes a Jon reveal I'm pretty sure hasn't been done before.
1. Epigraph

Rise Like Dragons

What if Sansa had been older, Joffrey's marriage had gone off without a hitch, and Littlefinger wasn't such a cunning mastermind? Winter is Coming, With Fire and Blood. Inspired by historical songs and poetry.

Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire and everything about it is obviously GRRMs, I'm just having some fun with it. The poetry and songs I use belongs to their respective creators, and I don't own them either. Poems or songs may be changed to suit my story.

If you don't like poetry, please note that this is just the epigraph, and I'm writing a prose story to follow. It will incorporate some poetry.

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><p>For SJM, who <em>invented<em> Smiley Moments.

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><p>Rise Like Dragons<p>

Epigraph

As I lay asleep in Casterly  
>There came a voice from over the Sea,<br>And with great power it forth led me  
>To walk in visions of Poetry.<p>

I saw Anarchy, with his kingly crown,  
>Riding a white horse, splashed with blood;<br>He was pale even to the lips,  
>Like Death in the Apocalypse.<p>

With a pace stately and fast,  
>Over Westerosi land he passed,<br>Drunk as with intoxication  
>On the wine of desolation.<p>

I met a maid who looked like Despair,  
>And I cried out in the air:<p>

'My father Time was weak and grey  
>With waiting for a better day;<br>How idiot-like he would stand,  
>Fumbling as the palsied Hand!<p>

He had child after child,  
>And the dust of death is piled<br>Over every one but me -  
>Misery, oh, Misery!'<p>

Then I lay down in the street,  
>Right before the horse's feet,<br>Expecting, with a patient eye,  
>The King named Anarchy.<p>

When between me and my foes  
>A mist, a light, an image rose,<br>Small at first, and weak, and frail;  
>It grew - a Shape arrayed in mail.<p>

I met Murder on the way -  
>She wore a mask like a bird of prey -<br>Smooth she looked, yet sinister;  
>Seven blood-hounds followed her:<br>For one by one, and two by two,  
>She tossed them human hearts to chew.<p>

I saw the Queen who stood unbowed,  
>As if her soul had cried aloud:<p>

'Rise like Dragons after slumber  
>In unvanquishable number,<br>Shake your chains to earth like dew  
>Which in sleep had fallen on you -<br>We are many - they are few.'

- Written by the Lady of Casterly Rock,  
>For Queen Daenerys Targaryen,<br>Upon her ascension to the Iron Throne

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><p>TO BE CONTINUED<p>

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><p>The poem used is:<p>

"The Mask of Anarchy" by Percy Bysshe Shelley

(Shelley's poem was altered and rearranged to suit my needs.)


	2. A Coy Mistress

A note before we begin: I've never written anything like this before, so…wish me luck. The payback's coming, I promise! Murder's eager, and dragons will rise!

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><p>Rise Like Dragons<p>

Chapter 1: A Coy Mistress

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><p>Tyrion cursed himself for a fool.<p>

Today had been Sansa's fifteenth nameday. Tyrion had had an elaborate dinner prepared, and he had given Sansa a necklace of 15 rubies set in gold, with an enormous pearl dangling from the center. Eight hundred golden dragons Tyrion had spent on that necklace; it was the pearl – the so-called Queen of Gems – that had cost him so dearly.

Sansa had merely looked at it, the haunted expression in her deep blue eyes, before quickly setting it down with a curteous "Thank you, my lord husband." The grief that Sansa felt over her brother and her mother had only made her more beautiful in Tyrion's eyes.

Tyrion silently cursed again. _Why would a Stark ever want rubies? _And despite their wedding over three weeks ago, Sansa was most definitely still a Stark.

_We will wait,_ he had told her. _The turn of a moon, a year, a season, however long it takes. Until you have come to know me better, and perhaps to trust me a little.**_

Could a Stark _ever _trust a Lannister, even a little? Tyrion was beginning to doubt it.

_Before me lie Deserts of vast eternity_, he quoted to himself.

What was worse, he wanted her. _I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust.*** _

But she wouldn't even say his name.

It was always "my lord husband" this and "my lord husband" that. Never just a simple "Tyrion".

Well, she could starve in her Castle of Courtesy. He threw himself into a chair, and opened a book.

Sansa surprised him. "I know who your mistress is."

_How can she possibly know about Shae?_ He hadn't even seen Shae for a week. He was beginning to wonder if Cersei had murdered her, just to spite him.

_And still she won't say my name, even when she accuses me of adultery._ "And just who is my mistress?"

"Your library. You read every day."

_Thank the gods._ "How _very_ observant of you. You should try reading some time."

Tyrion opened his book again, hoping to ignore her for the rest of the evening.

"Maester Luwin made me read plenty of books. I've had enough dry history to last a lifetime, thank you, my lord husband."

This was too much for Tyrion. Even if his wife hated him forever, he simply wouldn't permit her to hate reading. "Not _all_ books are dry histories. You've just been reading the wrong ones."

Always the dutiful, courteous lady, Sansa said nothing in the way of argument. The look she gave him, though, was one only a fifteen-year-old could give. _Prove it. _

"I'll make you a bet, Sansa. If you don't like the book I'm reading, I'll find you a bard, just like the one Queen Margaery has."

Sansa looked quite confident that she was going to be hearing songs of courtly love for many years to come. "As it please you, my lord husband."

_Please, gods, let her like this book. My wife has already heard enough songs to last a lifetime._

"This is a very old story, Sansa, and no one knows exactly where it originated. Perhaps from as far away as Asshai-by-the-Shadow, or maybe even farther."

And with that, Tyrion began to read:

"The grand vizier had two daughters, the elder of whom was called Scheherazade, and the younger Dinazade. Scheherazade was possessed of a remarkable degree of courage..."

And so Sansa heard the tale of two sisters, who conspired together for a thousand nights and one, and outwitted a king, and won a kingdom.

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><p>Tyrion did <em>not<em> need to go out and find a bard the next day, which was fortunate, because Joffrey summoned the entire court to the Great Hall.

Or perhaps it wasn't so fortunate.

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><p>"All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."<p>

Queen Margaery had not come with her husband today. Sansa watched from the middle of the crowded hall as Joffrey mounted the steps to the Iron Throne alone. He sat and looked out over the assembled courtiers. When his eyes found Sansa, he smiled.

That smile would have lifted her heart, once. Now it made her cringe inside.

Tyrion spoke quietly to her over the murmur of the hall. "My lady, I think we had best return to-"

The king interrupted him before he could finish.

"My lady aunt. Come here, to the foot of the dais. I wish you to have a good view of today's entertainment."

_Everyone I have ever loved is dead. What more "entertainment" could he possibly show me?_ Still, Sansa was filled with dread. She had no choice but to let her husband escort her to the front of the hall. She swore Tyrion muttered something about "Aerys the third," but she must have misheard, for there had been only two kings named Aerys.

Joffrey signaled, and his herald's voice rang out. "Ser Jared Frey."

A knight strode through the crowd, stopping at the base of the Iron Throne. His squire, undoubtedly another Frey, followed, carrying something over his shoulder.

"Your Grace." He bowed.

"You are to entertain us today, Ser Jared, with the tale of my great victory at the Twins. Let us all hear how my lord grandfather outwitted the Stark traitor."

_No._ _I don't want to hear it . No no n-_

"Yes, Your Grace, of course. Lord Walder Frey, ever your most loyal and faithful subject, only pretended to side with the traitor Robb Stark. But as you know, Your Grace, Lord Walder was of course only working on behalf of your most generous Hand, Lord Tywin. Lord Tywin instructed…"

Ser Jared went on. As his account of the Red Wedding unfolded, each sentence was more horrible than the last. Sansa would have shut her ears if she could, but Joffrey was relishing every gory detail. She was vaguely aware of Tyrion squeezing her hand, offering her what little he could, but it wasn't enough. Her husband couldn't save her.

"… put arrows in his side, leg, and chest. Stark was drenched in blood. He could barely rise, let alone walk. We could hear that beast of a direwolf outside, howling, enraged."

_Yes, let Greywind save him, please gods._ Sansa couldn't help it. Maybe if she prayed hard enough, this would all turn out to be a nightmare from which she would wake. _Please gods, let Greywind save him, and let him come save me._

"Lady Catelyn alternated between begging Lord Walder for mercy and commanding her son to abandon her and get out. She had a knife to the lackwit Jinglebell's throat, thinking she had us at a stalemate, but Lord Walder didn't give a damn about an idiot grandson.

"Lord Bolton strode up to Robb Stark, his sword in hand like he was going to cut their way to freedom."

_Yes yes yes!_

"He looked Stark in the eye and said, 'Jaime Lannister sends his regards.'"

Joffrey clapped and hooted with laughter at that line, causing the rest of the Hall to laugh too. "O gods, that's _perfect._ Go on, Ser Jared, go on. Don't keep my lady aunt waiting."

"Of course, Your Grace. Lord Bolton plunged his sword through Robb Stark's heart, and he gave it a nice _twist_ for good measure. So ended the 'King' in the North."

When they initially told her that the last of her family was dead, Sansa hadn't given any of them the satisfaction of seeing her cry, but she couldn't stop the tears now.

"Lady Catelyn went mad when Stark died. She killed Jinglebell and clawed her own face bloody, laughing the whole time. Then she started screaming, 'Please, Ned, please, make it stop, make it stop hurting….' I couldn't abide her wailing anymore, so I cut her head off."

Sansa fell to her knees. Joffrey was laughing. Tyrion was looking _down_ at her, saying something to her, but she couldn't hear him. She couldn't seem to hear anything but Ser Jared now.

"As you requested, Your Grace, here they are."

The knight motioned to his squire, who upended the sack he had been carrying. The heads of her mother and her brother rolled out onto the floor.

She couldn't look away, couldn't take her eyes off them. She was going to go mad. As mad as her mother, before she died. The small part of Sansa's mind that clung to sanity wondered why this could hurt her so, when she had been able to look at her father's severed head for as long as Joffrey had commanded. _Because there was still hope then. There was still hope I would escape this hell. But no one will save me now._

Suddenly, someone took her face in both hands and turned it roughly, ripping her eyes from the horror.

It was Tyrion. He wouldn't let go, wouldn't let her look away from his mismatched eyes, his grotesque face. She didn't even mind.

He was beautiful compared to the monstrousness she had just witnessed.

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><p><em>Well, <em>that_ certainly went well_, Tyrion thought. _Damn it, Jaime, where did you get such a monster? Even taking Cersei into account, where?_

He closed the door to their rooms, and Sansa started _screaming_ at him, tears streaming down her face.

"My father was _not_ a traitor! My brother and mother were _not_ traitors! And I _hate_ Joffrey! He is a _monster!_ And if I ever get the chance, I will push him off the highest tower in King's Landing! _Tell_ the Kingsguard I speak treason! I don't care anymore. Let Ser Ilyn cut my head off. I'm sure Joffrey has a spike ready, right between my brother and my mother. I don't care I don't care I don't care!"

Tyrion was a little taken aback by all this screaming from his demure lady wife. To be honest, it was actually a little refreshing to hear Sansa's real views for once.

Sansa had flung herself on the bed, sobbing and ordering Tyrion to alert the Kingsguard to her treasons.

Tyrion went over to her. "I would never do that, Sansa." He put his arms around her. She tried to push him away, but his arms were stronger than hers. She tried words instead.

"Robb was supposed to kill him, and give me his _head_. Robb was supposed to kill you _all_, and save me, and take me _home_."

"I know, Sansa," Tyrion said quietly, refusing to let her comments push him away. "I know." He let her cry. It was as if a flood had been released, battering down the castle walls she had hidden behind for so long.

After a while, Tyrion heard a small voice ask into his shoulder, "Why didn't Robb trade Ser Jaime for me?"

How could he tell her that a knight was worth more than a lady in the game of thrones? That a brother was worth more than a sister. Just like a whole son was worth more than a dwarfed one. How could he tell her these things, when he held her in his arms and didn't believe them himself?

"Because the gods are cruel, Sansa."

She cried herself to sleep in Tyrion's embrace, only to wake later, screaming from a nightmare. He calmed her, and gave her dreamwine to help her sleep more peacefully. Tyrion wished he could do the same, but he lay awake, wondering what to do with this sorrowful young wife he had been given. He had no answers.

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><p>Tyrion needed to get out of King's Landing, and soon.<p>

Winter was coming, literally, and being stuck in this city for years when the snows came was definitely not something he wanted. Joffrey's spectacle yesterday had been a nightmare, and today's council meeting, which had lasted well into the evening, had been almost as bad. Cersei was crazy, Joffrey was worse, and his lord father wouldn't shut up about his maiden wife.

Tyrion sighed as he walked back to his rooms. Sansa would be sleeping at this late hour. Maybe getting her away from King's Landing would banish the haunted look from her eyes. Tyrion opened the door to his bedchamber, and stopped dead in the doorway.

Sansa was very much awake.

All of the candles in the room were lit, and their flickering light played in her eyes, a blue deep enough for a man to drown in. Her thick auburn hair cascaded down her back. When it caught the firelight, there were hints of gold among the reddish-brown curls. As he stared at her sitting there naked in the middle of the bed, she swept her hair over her shoulders to modestly cover the fullness of her breasts. It did nothing, though, to hide her long legs, her smooth skin, the sensuous curve of her hips.

She looked like the bride of a lord of the Rock.

She looked like something he had dreamed of, and lost, so many years ago.

For the first time in his life, Tyrion Lannister had absolutely nothing to say.

But he stared at her the way a man dying of thirst stares at the Sunset Sea.

Her full, red lips were unsmiling, her oval face serious as she said, "I want you to touch me now, my lord husband. I want you to give me a baby, so that I can go home."

Tyrion found his voice at last.

"No."

That obviously wasn't the answer she'd been expecting.

"I've already decided we're leaving, Sansa, and going to Casterly Rock. You don't need to do this just to escape Joffrey."

"I ... I know, my lord husband."

"Then why? My name was still 'Lannister' the last I checked, and I certainly haven't grown any taller." His voice was hard, and bitter, but he couldn't help it.

"Because you promised me you would wait, and you kept your word."

"My, I'm as honorable as Ned Stark now," he said sarcastically. _You want her, so why are you making this so difficult for her, dwarf? Because I want her to want me, that's why._

"Because," she said slowly, groping for words, "you are kind to me. At our wedding, you were the only one who considered what I might want. When Joffrey had me beaten bloody and had my clothes ripped off, all the knights stood there and did nothing to help me. But you made him stop, when no one else would. And yesterday, I would have gone mad, had it not been for you, my lord husband."

"Tyrion. My name is Tyrion, Sansa."

She merely nodded. "You saved me yesterday. And you'll save me again when you take me away from here. Please, give me a baby?"

Tyrion could stand it no longer. He went over to her. Her blue eyes held his, and she never once looked away.

He was afraid to touch her, to find out that this had all been a dream.

Tyrion touched her check, her neck. He pushed her hair back over her shoulder. He cast about in his mind for something, anything, to say to her.

"Now therefore, while the youthful hue  
>Sits on thy skin like morning dew,<br>And while thy willing soul transpires  
>At every pore with instant fires,<br>Now let us sport us while we may."

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><p>Sansa called out his name.<p>

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><p>TO BE CONTINUED<p>

Like I said before we started, the payback's coming, I promise!

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><p>**GRRM, <span>A Storm of Swords<span>, p393

***GRRM, A Storm of Swords, p427

The poem quoted is "To his Coy Mistress" (a.k.a "World enough, and time") by Andrew Marvell.

The story Tyrion begins to read is a real excerpt from The Arabian Nights.

If you would like to see what I thought Sansa's necklace looks like, go here: .com/post/9621947385/sansas-ruby-necklace

If you don't agree with me that Tyrion has strong arms, you haven't searched "Joffrey slap" on YouTube, and you seriously need to.

So, yeah, Lady Stoneheart isn't in my story.

Comments, please?


	3. Murder

Some notes:

Graduate School is a jealous lover, readers. In fact, Graduate School would like to do a Red Wedding on me whenever any other activity occupies my time. Including fanfiction. And sleep. (Midterms are coming, yet I'm pulling an all-nighter and writing this. I think I hear The Rains of Castamere beginning to play.)

ALSO, I'm more of a "math person" than an "English/lit person." Putting Graduate School and "non-lit type" together, I'm _**extremely**_ slow at writing. I'm sorry. I hope you'll bear with me!

NEXT, I haven't read A Dance with Dragons. Oh, I bought it on July 12, just like the rest of you. And I read major spoilers and a page here and there. Books 1-3 were excellent, but after that I'd really rather have my own version of events. SO, just roll with me, ok?

FINALLY, remember that Sansa's OLDER here (age 15). Think of the ages on HBO, where Sansa starts off in Winterfell at age 13.

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><p>Warning: Language. (Is there really any point to these warnings on ASOIAF FF? I mean, if you're reading the fanfiction, you've either read the books or watched HBO, and is there anything disturbing that <em>hasn't<em> been covered? Don't answer that, I probably wouldn't want to know.)

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><p>Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the previous chapter! You make me smile.<p>

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><p>Rise Like Dragons<p>

Chapter 2: Murder

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><p>Nothing had prepared Sansa for how beautiful it would be.<p>

The late afternoon sun hung low over the Sunset Sea, burning the western ocean with golden fire.

The redstone fortress of Casterly Rock rose triumphant from the waves.

Their party was passing through the cobbled streets of Lannisport, the city's inhabitants quickly making way for the golden lion banner that Pod carried. Sansa tried to look at all the people, the buildings, the great war galleys anchored in the harbor, but her eyes were always drawn back to Casterly Rock, towering above them all.

She could almost believe the tales of Lann the Clever, winning the Rock by trickery, and then brightening his hair with gold from the sun. Standing atop Casterly Rock, he might have been able to reach it.

"Casterly Rock is the most defensible fortress in the Seven Kingdoms," Tyrion told her proudly. "Every part of the castle – except the lighthouse on top, of course – was carved directly from the mountain."

"What's a _lighthouse_?"

"Oh, you wouldn't…at night, a fire is lit on top of the tower, and giant mirrors reflect the light out to sea, to guide ships to the harbor in the dark."

Tyrion must not have seen the puzzled look she still wore, so excited was he to tell her about his ancestral home.

"As I was saying, the castle's nearly invincible. Trebuchets are useless against it. Enemy soldiers would have to scale the sheer cliffs to get inside. Even if they managed that exhausting feat, they'd never survive in the halls and tunnels. The garrison here consists of only the best, most loyal – and the most well paid – of Lannister guardsmen.

"And if an enemy was fool enough to try a siege, he would starve long before the Rock ever would. The store rooms always hold a minimum of 20 years worth of food and supplies, which makes me quite happy we'll be wintering here before going North."

At least it was nice to know she probably wouldn't go hungry this winter. Tyrion was still talking enthusiastically.

"I doubt Casterly Rock would have fallen even to Aegon the Conquerer and his dragons, but King Loren was arrogant enough to go out and meet him on the Field of Fire. Much like your Torrhen Stark, Loren was defeated and forced to swear fealty."

"King Torrhen was not defeated. He realized the might of the Targaryens and knelt, to save his people."

"Same thing, isn't it?"

Sansa didn't think it was. Before she could say anything, though, they rounded a bend in the road, and two colossal lions snarled viciously at her from the end of the street.

Tyrion pointed. "That ramp with the two lion statues guarding its base leads up to the gates we will be entering by. Even though we're so close, we still have to be taken up through the Rock by a lift system to get to the castle proper and the family apartments. The nicest rooms are in the outermost sections, with the most fresh air. The less we like our guests, the deeper inside the Rock we put them.

"You will want to visit the Stone Garden tomorrow, I expect. Casterly Rock could never grow a godswood, so the Casterlys worshipped the old gods under magnificent trees carved of white marble.

"After you see that, I want to show you all of the fine tapestries and sculptures in the Golden Gallery; the entire room – walls, floor, ceiling – is gilded.

"And you have to see the mines…" When he started talking about things called ventilation shafts, Sansa stopped listening and just let him talk.

Tyrion had spoken freely to her on just about anything and anyone during their month-long journey.

She had learned that he worshipped his brother. That he despised his sister. That his father despised him.

There was only one subject Tyrion had forbidden her. The memory made Sansa shiver.

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><p>Sansa moved her horse closer to Tyrion's. They were still weeks away from Casterly Rock.<p>

She wanted to use that time to learn more about her enigmatic husband. She didn't know how to feel about him. A Lannister who showed her kindness. A man who whispered _I love you_, and who could be absolutely … _wicked_. A man who wanted to save her, as much as she wanted to be saved.

"Do I remind you of her? Tysha?"

"Yes," Tyrion answered absently, flipping another page in the book he was absorbed in.

Then his eyes widened, and he snapped the book shut, turning to her with his unsettling gaze.

"I mean _no_. You're _nothing_ like her." He looked at her so _strangely_ then, and there was such sorrow in his eyes.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know, Sansa. It's alright." Tyrion turned his eyes to the dusty road ahead of them. He seemed very uncomfortable.

_He must miss her very much. As much as I miss Father, and Mother, and my brothers. Even Jon Snow. Even Arya. _

She braved another question. "How did she die?"

"_What?_"

"How did your first wife die? You said your marriage only lasted a short time. Did Tysha die in childbirth?"

Once the questions left her mouth, Sansa wished she could have them back. The sorrow was gone from Tyrion's face, replaced by distress and anger. Whether at her, or Tysha, or the world, she wasn't sure.

"I don't want to talk about Tysha. I don't want _you_ to talk about her either. Not with me, nor with anyone else. Don't even speak her name. Not now, and not ever."

_I don't understand. They were just questions. About a woman long dead. How can she still cause you this much pain? _

Sansa didn't voice any of these thoughts, however. She had vowed to obey, and the look Tyrion gave her said he expected – no,_ demanded_ – her obedience.

Tysha's name would not cross her lips for many a season.

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><p><em>Those twin lions are even more fearsome up close<em>.

Sansa drew her horse up short in the middle of the cobbled street. She was just about to pass between the two statues, at the base of the steep ramp leading up to Casterly Rock. Tyrion urged her on, his horse already beginning the ascent. The other members of their party were following suit.

Her hand went to the pearl at her neck, with so many rubies to either side of it.

She had thought it quite appropriate to wear the necklace that Tyrion had given her as a nameday gift.

_Casterly Rock may be beautiful,_ _but House Lannister is deadly. Never forget that_, she thought.

Readying herself, she picked up her horse's reins.

The sudden, cold grip on her arm nearly pulled her from the saddle and refused to let her go.

The crone's yellow eyes—so terrible and wise—silenced Sansa's screams and held her, even more strongly than the withered hand that clutched her arm.

The old woman's rasped words were the only sound in the world.

"Keep your little lion close, Lady. Murder's coming."

A piece of folded parchment was forced into Sansa's hand, her fingers closing around it unwillingly.

Then the crone released her arm, and it was like a spell was lifted.

Sansa could hear Tyrion's shouts and curses, the gallop of approaching horses, the more distant commands of Lannister officers.

But the old woman still hadn't released her eyes.

She had one last thing to say.

"Beautiful _and_ deadly. Never forget that, my Lady of Lannister."

The woman stepped away and smiled, a toothless grin that spoke of Hells beyond number, and Sansa was finally free to tear her eyes away.

Her husband had almost reached her, with Pod a close second. Bronn was heartbeats behind, sword drawn.

"Somebody find me that _fucking_ _witch_!" Tyrion roared to the guardsmen behind him.

Startled, Sansa glanced back, but the woman was gone.

Then Tyrion was beside her, asking if she was okay, telling her it was alright, that he wouldn't let this happen again, and a hundred other things that finally made her stop shaking.

Guards were fanning out to look for the old woman among the nearby streets and buildings.

"I thought Maggy the Frog was _dead_!" a soldier commented as he went past.

Tyrion nearly bit the man's head off. _"She obviously isn't, if she can assault MY WIFE at the fucking gates of CASTERLY ROCK. But YOU will be if you don't find her, YOU STUPID WHORESON BASTARD!"_

Tyrion might have been Tywin Lannister himself, from the way everyone jumped at his displeasure.

It wasn't until later that Sansa remembered the note still clutched in her fingers. She discretely unfolded it, revealing a barely legible scrawl.

_Why scare me to death just to tell me this?_ she thought sadly.

Sansa tucked the note away.

* * *

><p>It was nightfall before Tyrion was finally leading Sansa through Casterly Rock's smooth, lamp lit hallways.<p>

"Here we are." Her husband stopped in front of a pair of heavy oak doors three times his height. He reached for the door knobs in the shape of golden lion's heads, and pushed the doors open wide, motioning for her to precede him. Sansa stepped inside and gasped.

Gilded lamps and mirrors filled the large room with the light of noonday, more light than Sansa had ever seen in a room. All of the furniture – chairs, couches, dining table – was gilded and set with sparkling gems. A tall, narrow wardrobe – with a curious round face inset with rubied numbers – stood against one wall, making a regular ticking noise. Fires were lit in both of the room's fireplaces. Their mantles were so intricately carved with vines and flowers that, were Sansa able to brush the stone dust away, she thought she would reveal the living plants underneath. Endless ocean was the only sight to be seen through the mullioned glass windows.

Tyrion was impressed too, but not about his sitting room.

"_Finally_ the servants listened, and left my books alone while I was away." Books were scattered throughout the room, lying open on the tables, in stacks on the floor. He grinned at her. "I don't like it when they move all the books back into my library," he gestured to another room off this one, "when I've gone to such great lengths to move them all in here."

He showed her around the other rooms.

"This is the bedroom, obviously." _She_ would feel like a dwarf in that bed. More gilding. Two more beautiful fireplaces. More books.

"My dressing room." Filled with clothes. Another fireplace. Books.

"Your dressing room." Empty, save for the fireplace. And some dusty crates of books.

"Bath." A raised golden tub and washbasin. Fireplace. Surprisingly lacking books. "Oh, you don't need servants to draw you a bath here, if you don't want them to. You just turn these handles, like this, and water comes out."

It wasn't until they were back in the sitting room that her husband noticed the tears in her eyes.

"Sansa, I'm sorry about all the books. I'll have the servants-"

"I never wanted _Winterfell._"

She moved away from him, to look out at the ocean. Her hand slipped into the pocket of her dress, holding the paper there.

"Winterfell was meant for _Robb_. _For House Stark._ My husband was supposed to be some high lord's heir, and I was supposed to be the lady of a castle as beautiful as this one…. It's so … _wondrous_ here." Her voice was filled with longing.

She waited for Tyrion to respond – to convince her that it would all work out, that being Lady of Winterfell would be just as nice – but he didn't.

He was in complete agreement with her. If only Sansa had known.

She withdrew her hand, letting the witch's note fall to the floor. She went to bed.

* * *

><p>Sansa awoke in darkness, the hand pressed to her mouth denying her even a scream.<p>

She was pulled from the bed and dragged into the other room. A lamp was still burning there, and its light revealed the last person she had ever expected to see.

Arya held a finger to her lips for silence before releasing Sansa and shoving some clothes at her roughly.

Before Sansa could recover from her shock, Arya – _Arya! _– drew a _sword_, moving back toward the bedroom, where Tyrion was still asleep.

"_What are you doing?_" Sansa cried out.

The hand was back over Sansa's mouth before she could think.

"_Seven hells_, Sansa," Arya whispered, barely audible. "I thought it was _obvious_. I'm rescuing you. After I kill the Imp, we'll go to Jon, and work out how to deal with the rest of them."

Arya removed her hand and turned away, intent on what she was going to do.

A thousand thoughts went through Sansa's head in that moment.

The sound of Ice swinging through her father's neck. _I am only a little lion, child, and I vow I shall not savage you. _Joffrey's cruel laughter. _Kindness is not a habit with us Lannisters, I fear, but I know I have some somewhere. _The tears in her eyes as she stood before the septon. _On my honor as a Lannister. _Rough hands, turning her face away from horror. _I love you._

"No."

"_What?_" Arya looked back at her like she had gone mad.

"Don't kill him."

"Sansa, he's a Lannister. You know, one of the people who murdered our _family_?"

"He's not like them."

Arya was still looking at her.

"He _saved_ me. I'm in his debt. I won't let you kill him."

"Well we can't exactly take him to the Wall with us!"

"I…I'm not going with you. I'm staying here, with him."

"I never did understand you, Sansa." Arya shook her head, dropping her gaze to the floor, unable even to look at her sister for the moment. She sheathed her sword.

Arya suddenly bent down and picked something up.

Sansa realized what it was.

"That's rubbish, Arya, from a crazed old woman, don't even bother to-"

"_From the fair line of the North  
><em>_A prince shall arise,  
><em>_Who shall limit  
><em>_His empire with ocean,  
><em>_His glory with the firmament.  
><em>_Born of the blue rose of Winter,  
><em>_Inheritor of a great name,  
><em>_Kin to she who Brings the Light.  
><em>_Him one day thou shalt welcome  
><em>_From the heavens,  
><em>_Loaded with Eastern spoils.  
><em>_To him too shall vows be addressed.  
><em>_Only then shall war cease,  
><em>_And the iron ages soften."_

Arya looked up when she finished reading. "She who Brings the Light…Lightbringer. Sansa, I've heard-"

"It doesn't matter what you've heard. Nothing in that whole stupid note matters. A prince did arise, and he would have conquered King's Landing. But the Freys and Lord Bolton _murdered_ him. With Tywin Lannister overseeing it all."

Arya pocketed the piece of parchment. "Are you _certain_ you don't want me to…," nodding her head toward the bedroom.

Sansa ignored her. "Who set all of this in motion, Arya? Who really murdered Jon Arryn? Did our lord father even find out?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. I'm going to kill them all," Arya vowed, "and let the gods sort them out."

Sansa hated Joffrey and most of his kin with a fiery passion. She looked into her sister's eyes, though, and saw nothing but winter ice.

_What happened to you, my only sister? I thought your sufferings pale compared to mine. I was wrong._

Sansa embraced her sister. "I wish you well, Arya. I will do whatever I can to help you, but I cannot act openly. They made me one of them. But I am a wolf always."

"Wolves we are always," Arya agreed. "I remembered that much in the House of Black and White. The North remembers."

Sansa's hands went to her necklace, and she pulled, hard. The pearl came loose. "Please, Arya, take this, to speed you on your journey. Give Jon my love."

"I will. I'll keep in touch, Sansa. Winter is coming. If you ever change your mind…." Arya's hand rested on her sword hilt. She smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

Sansa watched as Arya slipped out, as silent as the grave.

* * *

><p>Tyrion awoke the next morning, and looked at his innocent young wife, lying awake beside him.<p>

"I was so exhausted, I slept like the dead for once, Sansa."

He looked at her more closely. "What happened to your necklace?"

Sansa's hand flew to the place where that exorbitantly-priced pearl should have hung. "I don't know." A distressed look came over her face. "It must have come loose yesterday, when that witch…. And now it's completely _ruined_!" She was almost crying.

"Shh, Sansa, it's okay, don't worry about it. I'll have it fixed by this afternoon, and you'll be looking lovelier than ever in it."

Sansa beamed, ravishingly beautiful.

_When she looks at me like that, I feel like I'm the Lord of Casterly Rock._

She kissed him.

* * *

><p>TO BE CONTINUED<p>

* * *

><p>The prophecy Arya reads is adapted from Virgil's <span>Aeneid<span>.

Several sources inspired my descriptions of Casterly Rock:  
>-"Casterly Rock" painting by Ted Nasmith<br>-images of the Rock of Gibraltar  
>-Westeros discussion threads on Casterly Rock<p>

* * *

><p>Remember "Murder" from the epigraph? I'm glad she's finally joined us. And a Lannister always pays her debts, you guys.<p>

Alternate title for this chapter was "HGTV's House Hunters: Westeros Edition". j/k. I don't know if there was too much description in this chapter, but I've always wanted to "visit" Casterly Rock in the books. Was it bad?

Before anyone throws Tyrion's "Only a Lannister can like the Rock" line at me, I interpreted that as people being put off by the overwhelming "Lannisterness" of the place, not as Casterly Rock being uncomfortable.

I subscribe to the Jon Snow=Prince Who Was Promised, Dany=Azor Ahai school of thought.

I forget, is Dany aware of the "Prince who was promised" prophecy? Maybe from The House of the Undying, or whatever that creepy prophecy house was called? If you know, and you'd like to tell me, plus location in the books, you'd have my gratitude.

One other thing I'd love for anybody to help me with, if you're willing: Is there an explicit connection between Tysha and that song "I loved a maid as fair as summer", "...autumn...", "...winter..."? Or am I just imagining that? Again, location in the books is helpful.

* * *

><p>Thank you again to everyone who's left comments! I love comments, especially nice ones! You know you want to leave a comment, right?<p> 


	4. The Story of My Love

So sorry for the long delay. I'm really writing as quickly as I can, but I need to sleep, and eat, and work, and study at least as much as the next person. The final chapter is already written, but it'll be a while before we get there. Remember, it's the journey, not the destination.

Thank you so much to everyone who leaves a nice comment on my story. I cherish your comments above rubies.

Special thanks to ChrisJM89, who so helpfully answers all my questions.

For SJM, my sister of the Night's Watch, my watcher on the walls, for this night, and all the nights to come.

* * *

><p>Rise Like Dragons<p>

Chapter 3: The Story of My Love

* * *

><p>Sansa slipped into life at Casterly Rock as easily as slipping on a glove.<p>

With Dorna, Ser Kevan's wife, still sick with grief over the death of her son, the duties of the Lady of Casterly Rock had been sorely neglected until Sansa arrived. Managing a household was what she had been bred for. Moreover, she finally had something to _do_. Keeping busy eased the ever-present pain in Sansa's heart.

Tyrion kept her busy as well.

True to his word, he proudly showed her all the wonders of Casterly Rock: the Stone Garden, the Hall of Heroes, the Golden Gallery.

The Lion's Mouth was quite remarkable. One wall deep in the Rock had been carved to resemble the head of a roaring lion, twenty feet high. Two heavy doors were set in its mouth. Tyrion ordered the guards to throw them open wide for her.

Sansa couldn't help being a bit impressed. "How much is in there?"

Her husband was very nonchalant. "We only keep about 30 million here. The rest is invested."

The mountains of golden dragons glittered in the torchlight. Farther in was lost to shadow, but Sansa could _feel_ the vastness, the _fullness_ of the cavern. House Lannister didn't just store gold in its vault; it stored _power_.

"Of course," Tyrion went on, "we don't lock our most precious treasures away in here." He was looking at her. "Sansa, I love you."

Sansa knew what she was supposed to say. She knew how a dutiful wife should respond.

She refused to speak the words. He had told her not to lie, that very first night. In the matters of her heart, she wasn't going to.

Tyrion tried to fill the awkward silence, gesturing to the gold before them. "I could give you anything you ever wanted. I _would_ give you anything. You have only to ask, and it's yours."

"You are very kind, Tyrion. But even if you possessed all the gold in Westeros, I doubt you would have the power to give me what I want."

* * *

><p>Tyrion woke to the sound of Sansa's voice, calling out.<p>

Sansa was still asleep beside him, but he could tell her dreams were not pleasant. _"Robb!"_she called again.

_Does __she __attend __the __Red __Wedding __in __her __nightmares?_

He couldn't lie there and let her suffer. He shook her. "Sansa. Sansa, wake up."

She awoke with a start, thrashing violently.

"Shhh, it's alright, love, it was a dream, nothing more. Just a dream."

Somehow that felt like a lie on Tyrion's tongue, but he said it all the same, and Sansa became calm soon enough. She didn't go back to sleep, though.

"Why did my brother break his word and marry that woman? Jeyne Westerling." She sounded bitter.

_A__different __wedding, __then._ "He must have loved her."

Surprisingly, the girl who still longed for sweet songs of courtly love didn't look very happy with that answer.

"Don't torment yourself by thinking of all things that could have happened differently. Robb Stark would have lost, one way or another, I guarantee you."

"He won every battle." Her words were filled with pain. "Love was the _stupidest_ way he could have lost the war. Love was a _stupid_ reason to lose the Freys. Love was a _stupid_ thing to die for."

_I'd die for you._

"I wish I could make you understand, Sansa."

* * *

><p>Even if she didn't love him, Sansa found she enjoyed all the attention Tyrion showed her, in so many little ways.<p>

One night at dinner, Sansa watched as Tyrion poured a drink and offered it to her.

"Sansa, I had this made for you. It's lemon juice. You'll like it."

"Oh no! I'm not falling for that! Jon and Arya tricked me into eating a raw lemon once, and it was _awful_. I'll stay with lemon cakes, thank you very much."

"Sansa, this isn't a trick. Honestly. It's good."

Sansa pressed her lips together and shook her head.

Tyrion just continued holding the goblet out, refusing to give up.

Finally she took it, looking down at the cloudy liquid.

_How __far __do __I __trust __him?_

Sansa drank deeply. "This _is_ good!"

"How odd. I could have _sworn_ I said that already." Tyrion was smiling as he spoke, though, his eyes bright with pleasure.

* * *

><p>When they heard the knock, Sansa and her husband both looked up, but the visitor didn't wait for permission to enter the solar.<p>

"Jaime! What are you doing here, brother?"

"Little brother, I am asking myself the same question."

Ser Jaime, tall and golden, looked nothing like his younger brother. Dressed in black and crimson, he carried a long bundle, wrapped in folds of red velvet. Sansa tried not to look at the place where his right hand should be.

She felt a trifle ill at ease. She didn't really know Jaime Lannister.

She knew the Kingslayer had fought against Robb in the Whispering Wood, and would have slain him given the chance.

But she remembered Tyrion speaking of the kind brother who had taught him to ride as a boy, when no one else would.

Sansa tried to reconcile these thoughts about Ser Jaime as he eased himself into a chair across from her.

"Sansa Stark." He bowed his head to her. "I suppose I should say Sansa Lannister now. My best wishes on your marriage."

Sansa merely nodded in acknowledgement, too wary to speak.

"Really, Jaime," Tyrion asked, "why are you here? I thought you had a king to guard."

"Our lord father thought otherwise. Once he discovered I could no longer wield a sword adequately, he seized the opportunity in his claws. He had Joffrey dismiss me from the Kingsguard in front of the whole court. Dismissed by my own damn-" _He __needn__'__t __glance __at __me. __I've __heard __far __worse __language __than __that. _"My own nephew. I was ordered to come here and play the heir. Father is finally getting everything he's always wanted. Cersei's here too, by the way."

"And my handsome face wasn't the first thing our sweet sister wished to see? I'm hurt, Jaime. Well, what do you intend to do now?" Tyrion asked, more seriously.

"I have an obligation I must see to." Again his eyes flicked in Sansa's direction. "And then... Mayhap I'll have a son...and I'll hold him, and the Others take those who do not like it."

The idea of this infamous knight holding a son - of wanting something so simple, so _human_ - broke through Sansa's defenses. She could finally see the person Tyrion had spoken of, and she found herself smiling at him.

"Of course you will hold your son, Ser Jaime, why would anyone object to that? Perhaps you should find a wife first, though," she reminded him gently.

Tyrion laughed as if she had made a joke, but Jaime only sighed.

"My father is working on that, my lady. But what of you? I swore... I would know that you are safe, and unharmed. Is my brother treating you well?"

"Of course I'm treating her-"

"I asked her, not you, Tyrion."

Sansa was thinking of what had happened earlier that day, on the beach. She blushed deeply as she said, "He treats me very well, Ser Jaime."

The two brothers both started laughing. "Just call me Jaime, good-sister."

"Truly, though, Jaime, your brother is very kind to me. I do not know what I would have done without him in King's Landing. His Grace..."

"I would like to apologize on Joffrey's behalf. I can't change anything he's done, but there is one small gesture I can make. I want you to have this. It's no use to me."

Jaime presented her with the velvet-wrapped bundle. "Give it to your husband, give it your champion, or give it away, as it please you. Mayhap if you give my brother a son, you could give it to him."

As Sansa began to unwrap the gift, she smiled, a secret smile. Neither brother noticed.

"Father will be wroth, Jaime." Tyrion sounded pleased by the prospect.

"Did Father give a care for _my_ anger when he stripped me of my white cloak? Besides, Father is already wroth. You should have seen him when he realized he must pay the Iron Bank with his own gold, in order to keep Joffrey on the throne."

As they talked, Sansa folded back the crimson fabric to reveal a longsword. It was lighter than it had a right to be, light enough that even she could hold it easily. The grip was finely tooled red leather, the pommel a golden lion's head.

Sansa slid a few inches of the blade from the cherrywood scabbard, running her eyes down the sinuous waves of grey and red in the Valyrian steel. The smoky metal had resisted the red dye it had been infused with.

_You may wear red and gold now, Ice, but you still remember what you were. _

Sansa looked up at Jaime. He and Tyrion were silent now, both watching her. "You have no idea what this means to me. Especially now, with... After Joffrey's wedding, when Tyrion admitted to me that my father's sword had been reforged..."

When Sansa had learned afterwards that Joffrey and the Kingslayer would wield Stark steel, she had emptied her stomach. All seventy-seven courses. She regretted her anger, now. Toward Jaime. Never Joffrey.

She looked at the golden lion studs in the scabbard. The fire that burned in their ruby eyes matched that in her own deep blue.

"I have a new name. This blade must have one as well. What is it called?"

"Oathkeeper." Jaime went to one knee before her. "You are my last chance for honor, Sansa Lannister. If ever you find yourself in need, I am at your service."

It was almost like in the songs.

"Thank you," Sansa said softly, overcome. "I will remember. You...you are spoken of unfairly, Ser. You are a true knight. I-"

Tyrion interrupted her. "Will you slay a dragon for her next, Jaime? I'd be interested in watching."

"Shove off, Tyrion. Now, if the two of you will excuse me, I'm going to bed. If the gods are good, I'll find it already warm." Jaime sauntered smoothly toward the door.

"Ser," Sansa called out to the knight. Jaime looked back at her. "I can see the resemblance between you and your brother."

"I'm glad, my lady. Few do."

* * *

><p>Tyrion was seated at the desk in his library, reading.<p>

Had he looked through the open door out into his solar, he would have seen his wife sitting in front of the large windows, sewing. Sansa had been working on something for the past few days. Not a gown, it was too small for that. Maybe a shirt for him.

He'd left her to it today. He was a bit preoccupied with his latest acquisition: _Fires__of__the__Freehold_, Gelandro's history of Valyria. Dragons were Tyrion's favorite subject, and this book was one of the best, even if this copy wasn't nearly as complete as the one the Citadel possessed. He turned its pages as carefully as a lover's caress, the sweet, crisp smell of vellum filling his nose, the meticulous illuminations consuming him.

It was then that Sansa started to sing.

But he didn't hear her.

Memories haunted him.

Another voice, another face, another song resonated through him.

_I loved a maid as pure as springtime, with sunrise in her hair._

_No, Tysha. You were never pure. You were never even truly mine. You were a dream my brother bought for me, because he loved me. _

Sansa was real. She was his lady wife, good and innocent and beautiful, and everything a husband could ever ask for.

Except he could not concentrate with her singing.

He got up to close the door, and it was then that he finally _heard_ Sansa.

Her young voice was high, and sweet. As sweet as the coming of spring, after ten long years of winter.

He listened to the words of her song, and he knew they were the loveliest sounds he would ever hear.

_"I gave my love a cherry that had no stone.  
><em>_I gave my love a chicken that had no bone.  
><em>_I told my love a story that had no end.  
><em>_I gave my love a baby with no crying."_

He walked toward her as she sang, watching the rhythmic movement of her hand as she pulled her stitches through. Red roses bloomed in her cheeks, and her blue eyes sparkled brighter than the ocean outside. The light flooded in through the windows behind her, creating the illusion of a glowing halo.

_"How can there be a cherry without a stone?  
><em>_How can there be a chicken without a bone?  
><em>_How can there be a story without an end?  
><em>_How can there be a baby with no crying?"_

As he drew nearer, he could see that she wasn't sewing, technically. She was embroidering. A grey direwolf and a golden lion, combatant. A cloud passed over the sun for a moment, cutting off the light surrounding her. But still she seemed to glow in Tyrion's eyes. Her radiance came from within. She had never looked more beautiful.

_"A cherry, when it's blooming, it has no stone.  
><em>_A chicken, when it's pipping, it has no bone.  
><em>_The story of my love, it has no end.  
><em>_A baby, when he's sleeping, has no crying."_

Sansa looked up from her stitching. Seated, she was of a height with him. He carefully took the tiny garment from her lap, and held it up, admiring her fine work.

"I'm a fool, Sansa. How did I ever think you were making a shirt for me?"

Tyrion heard her laugh, for the very first time. It was clear and true, like a mountain stream rich with snowmelt.

Her laughter exorcised ghosts. Tyrion would have given anything in that moment to do the same for her. But some debts can never be repaid.

Sansa smiled playfully. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out."

The two lovers lingered there in the golden gleam of autumn's dying light.

Tyrion forgot the Stark words. They were not his.

But even the great fortress of Casterly Rock is not invincible against Winter's icy touch.

* * *

><p>Tyrion didn't know how he was going to tell her.<p>

Once was bad enough. A second time? It wasn't something he was looking forward to.

"Two ravens came today, Sansa. One of them was white. Winter is here."

"I was born last winter, but I can't remember it. I suppose I'll finally see what it's like."

_Oh, __you __woeful __winter __child. __You __already __know._

"The other raven brought news from the North. A battle was fought at Winterfell. I know you aren't happy that Roose Bolton is Warden of the North for now, but he-"

"I won't be happy until Roose Bolton is Warden of Hell. He _betrayed_ Robb, and _murdered_ him. _I __want __his __head __on __a __spike._"

"I'll ... see what I can do about that... As I was saying. Bolton is doing the job my father set for him. He won the battle and executed Stannis as a traitor."

"With the Ironborn defeats you were telling me of, that means the King now rules unopposed. How nice for Joffrey."

_One thing about my wife, she puts on a good mummer's show. _

"Sorry, Sansa. Try not to dwell on what this means for Joffrey, and think instead what it means for us. We'll have no problems returning to Winterfell. I'm told the Northmen are more than eager to have 'Ned Stark's girl' back."

_The __implication __being __"with __or __without __me, __the __latter __preferable," __but __she __doesn't __need __to __know __that._

"The people of the North are remarkably loyal to your House. It's...it's a pity the line is at an end... Sansa..."

_Gods, __did __you __really __have __to __take _all _of __Ned __Stark's __sons? __Especially __the __one __I __liked? __Was __it __really __necessary __to __break __her __heart __all __over __again?_

"Tyrion, what's the matter? Why do you look so distressed?"

"Sansa ... I'm so sorry, love. Jon Snow is dead."

* * *

><p>Jon Snow couldn't believe everything that had happened to him over the past few weeks.<p>

His sworn brothers, stabbing him. Arya and Nymeria, arriving just as the darkness closed in around him. Melisandre, resurrecting him and telling him he was needed in the East.

A direction which, coincidentally, Arya had insisted they go in, all the while muttering, "Sansa was _wrong_. It's not rubbish. We can still get her to help us _kill __them __all_, even if Robb _is_ dead." It had taken Jon forever to get the meaning of _that_ out of her. Some ridiculous prophecy _Sansa_ had been given about how _House __Stark_ would have united with _Daenerys_ _Targaryen_ and conquered Westeros. _Right, __and __I'm __a __true-born __prince._

That wasn't even the weirdest thing. Bran had spoken to them _from__a__tree._ Apparently, his death was a hoax, he was fine, he was studying how to be a greenseer, _oh, __and __Rickon __was __eaten __by __cannibals __on __Skagos._ Jon didn't know whether to dwell on Bran really being alive or Rickon really being dead.

And now they were in the back of an audience chamber in a palace in some strange city called Meereen.

"Arya," Jon whispered, "what are we doing here? I should be back on the Wall. I have a war to fight. I swore _oaths_."

"Which you were released from when you _stopped __breathing __for __four __minutes_. Don't you know _anything_, Jon Snow?"

Jon gave up, and scanned the crowded room. A bunch of Meereenese people he couldn't be bothered with. Some knights, the oldest wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard. A brown-haired septa. Prince Aegon Targaryen, newly wedded.

And to Aegon's right sat the most beautiful woman in existence.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Her eyes locked with his.

The Wildlings had said Ygritte was kissed by fire.

Daenerys _was_fire. It was her soul. And it was calling to him.

"_Jon?_" It wasn't the Queen who had called out his name, as much as Jon might have wished it.

It was the septa.

Aegon continued the audience, but the crowd parted for the Septa as she made her way over to him and Arya.

As she drew close, Jon could see she had lively violet eyes. She might have been a beauty once, but the best that could be said now was that she was handsome.

"Oh, Jon. I haven't seen you since you were a baby. But it must be you. You look so much like Ned, I feel as if I am standing before him at Harrenhall all over again."

"_Who __are __you?_" And then Jon suddenly understood. "Are you _my __mother?_"

The woman laughed. "No, Jon, though I wish I was. My name is Ashara, although I haven't been called that in years. Most people call me Lemore now. Didn't Ned ever tell you about your birth?"

Jon shook his head. "He promised to tell me…but they killed him before he ever got the chance."

"Your Graces," Ashara called out, "you may wish to end the audience early today. You will want to hear what I have to tell you."

As the crowd was filing out, the woman turned to his sister. "Arya Stark?" Arya nodded. Ashara reached out, as if to stroke her hair, but Nymeria growled, and the woman dropped her hand. "I've always wanted to know what you looked like. Your father and I had agreed that if my baby was a girl, we'd name her Arya. But my little girl was born cold, and dead."

"Wait," Jon said, "so you did have a baby with my father?"

"I had a baby with Ned Stark, Jon, but Ned was not your father."

"_What?_" Ashara was already walking away, though, back toward the front of the hall.

"That woman's _crazy_," Arya informed him, but they both followed her.

Aegon had remained seated on the throne, but Daenerys had descended to its base, never taking her eyes off Jon. Ghost walked over to her and curled up at her feet. Jon was a bit jealous of his wolf. He was having trouble concentrating on what Ashara was saying as she addressed the Queen and her Prince.

"Your Graces, I assume you've heard how Prince Rhaegar abducted Lyanna Stark, beginning the War of the Usurper?"

Ashara didn't wait for their nods of agreement.

"I later learned from Ned Stark that, unbeknownst to us all, Lyanna went willingly. She loved Rhaegar, and married him, and gave him a son. Rhaegar named the boy after his good friend, Jon Connington."

Jon had to be hearing this wrong. He couldn't breathe.

"Lyanna died from a fever contracted in childbirth, and Ned brought the child to Starfall, where he told me everything. How he had rebelled against his rightful king, over a misunderstanding. How he had promised his sister that he would keep the baby safe, the baby they believed was the heir to the throne.

"Ned couldn't let Robert Baratheon or Tywin Lannister know such a child lived. Instead, he let everyone think the child was his bastard. Some people even thought the child was mine. I would have kept the baby, too, but Ned said Dorne would be the first place anyone would look for a surviving Targaryen. Ned took the baby north with him, and I... Well, I did find a Targaryen to raise after all."

Aegon spoke. "A touching story, Lady Lemore, but how is this relevant? House Stark is at an end, and rightly so, for siding with the Usurper. I heard even Stark's bastard died recently, so his parentage is hardly important now."

"My prince, I thought I taught you long ago not to believe everything you hear.

"Your Graces, allow me to present to you Prince Jon Targaryen."

_"What?"_Aegon and Jon both said at once.

_"I __knew __it! __I __knew __Sansa __was __wrong! __I __knew __it __wasn't __rubbish! __'From __the __fair __line __of __the __North __a __prince __shall __arise'! __Yes!_"

"Arya, you can't possibly believe this insan-"

"Stark and Targaryen." It was the first time Jon heard Daenerys speak, but he prayed to the old gods it wouldn't be his last. "Ice and fire. You are the prince that was promised."

Jon didn't know what to say to that.

Aegon spoke instead. "Dany, I thought you told me my father said I was the prince that was promised."

"Rhaegar got the prophecy wrong." Daenerys came over to Jon. "The dragon has three heads. Will you marry me, Jon Targaryen?"

Being a Targaryen suddenly sounded a lot more appealing to Jon. "Your Grace-"

"Call me Dany."

Aegon interjected. "Dany, haven't you forgotten something? Like, the fact that you're already married? To me?"

"Shut up, Aegon. If my brother had two wives, I can have two husbands. If you have a problem, take it up with Drogon. Now, Jon, will you marry me?"

"_Tell __her __yes, __Jon!_ Queen Daenerys, I'm Arya Stark. I'm Jon's sister, err, well, I guess I'm really his cousin. I want to help you when you take Jon and ride on your dragons and go kill all the Lannisters. Except Sansa, she's my sister. She probably wouldn't like it if you killed the Imp either. She wouldn't let _me_ kill him, at least."

Daenerys turned her gaze on Arya. "It will be years before my dragons are fully grown, and Aegon and I are still trying to learn how to control them."

Jon couldn't have asked for a better opportunity.

"Your Grace, I mean, Dany, I think I can help you with that. I'm a warg - that means I can enter animals' minds, or at least I can with Ghost, so maybe we can all learn to do that with the dragons." _Oh __gods, __look __at __how __she's __smiling __at __me._

Arya interrupted his reverie. "Great! So we'll all be going to Westeros soon! I call dibbs on Cersei!"

"Oh no," Daenerys explained. "I'm not at all prepared to conquer Westeros yet. I need to abolish slavery everywhere, establish fair and stable governments, root out insurgents, raise money for all this nation-building... The list just goes on and on."

Jon was quick to jump in. "I'd be happy to assist you, in whatever way I am able."

"Listen, _brother_," Aegon said. "I'm the one who's been trained to rule since before he could talk. I've got it covered."

The Queen rounded on him. "_If __you __ever __hope __to __sleep __with __me __again, __Aegon, __Shut. __Up. __Right. __Now."_

Aegon muttered something. It might have sounded like, "Why didn't somebody just suggest I head straight to Westeros?" Nobody was listening to Aegon, though.

Daenerysturned back to Jon, smiling. "That was so kind of you to offer to help me rule, Jon. I'm sure you'll be more than capable of solving my problems. Especially concerning my children. My dragons, I mean. So, will you marry me?"

That smile melted Snow. "Yes."

Arya pulled on his sleeve, interrupting his fantasies again. "You and she are going to be here for a while, aren't you, Jon?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I could spend seasons just looking into her eyes."

Arya sighed. "Let me know when the three of you finally get your act together. In the meantime, I'm going be _entertaining_ Freys."

"That's nice, Arya," Jon said distractedly. "Have fun. Love you."

"Come on, Nymeria. First Robb, then Sansa, now Jon. I am _never_ getting married."

* * *

><p>TO BE CONTINUED<p>

* * *

><p>PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE <em>listen<em> to "I Gave My Love a Cherry" by YouTube user strainsofme2, or else visit my Tumblr at

riselikedragons DOT tumblr DOT com

where I am posting the YouTube video of the song, because it sounds EXACTLY like what I imagine Sansa sounds like. Words on a computer screen DO NOT do this old English folksong justice. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, I'm begging you, by the old gods and the new, _listen __to __the __song!_

BTW, Sansa and Tyrion played Ultimate Frisbee on the beach. Obviously. Do you even _know_ how embarrassing Ultimate Frisbee is?

* * *

><p>I adore comments. Won't you be nice enough to leave one?<p> 


	5. The Watch I Keep

For SJM, forever and always, without whom this would not exist.

For Annie, who courageously captains a beleaguered ship. I salute you, Captain.

For Cat, who took my hand and followed me into darkness, where I left her for a while. Forgive me, Cat. _Fiat __lux_. _Semper __fiat __lux._

And for you, my reader, who has traveled this far with me.

It's all for you.

.

* * *

><p>Rise Like Dragons<p>

Chapter 4: The Watch I keep

* * *

><p>.<p>

Sansa slammed the door to their apartments shut behind her, causing Tyrion to look up with a start.

_How __can __I __possibly __tell __him __this? __He __loves __his __brother _so _much._

"Sansa, you should see the look on your face. Are you alright? What's the matter?"

The words tumbled out of her mouth in a breathless rush.

"I thought it would be nice to invite Jaime to dine with us, so I went to his rooms, and the door was ajar, and I heard a noise, so I went in, and I saw your brother, and I saw your sister, and they-"

Tyrion was staring at her, his head cocked to one side, his mismatched eyes boring into her, and all she could do was stand there agape. She couldn't possibly go on.

Fortunately, she didn't have to.

Cersei barged into the room, her twin at her heels.

"Sansa, sweetling, close your mouth. I've told you before, it's not very becoming. Now-"

"Just shut the fuck up, Cersei," Tyrion said as he moved between Sansa and his siblings. "Etiquette from you is like guest right from Walder Frey. And Jaime, my dear brother. If you even get _near_a window..."

Sansa had no idea what Tyrion meant, but he sounded deadly.

Jaime held his hand up in front of him. "Wasn't even thinking of it, little brother. Who was it who stopped Cersei from throwing all your toys away when you were small?"

"I should have thrown _him _away instead."

"Shut up, Cersei." It was Jaime who said it this time. "Look, Tyrion, we're only here to talk to her."

"_I'll_ talk to her. I thought the two of you would have learned something by now. It's called _discretion_."

Sansa couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Tyrion_,__you __knew __about __this? __They've __done __this __before?" _Nobody was paying her any attention, though.

Jaime just shrugged at Tyrion's scathing look. "What can I say, dear brother? We were in my own rooms. The Starks have an annoying habit of dropping in at the most inconvenient moments and finding out things they shouldn't."

"_Wait_, _did_ _someone __else __in __my __family __know __about __this?_" It suddenly dawned on her. "My father was right. _Wasn't __he?_"

The three Lannister siblings finally started paying attention to her.

"Sansa-" Tyrion began, but Sansa spoke right over him.

"Joffrey had _no __right_ to the throne." She looked at Jaime. "_Joffrey's __your __bastard_. Joffrey's your _b-bloody_ bastard."

Sansa waited for somebody to deny it. She almost _wanted_ somebody to deny it.

It was the Queen who spoke first. Her tone was almost… _motherly._

"Welcome to the Game, dear. If it makes any difference to you, I really would have only sent Lord Eddard to the Wall."

Sansa was vaguely aware of Tyrion restraining her, but all she could think about was clawing Cersei's eyes out.

"Perhaps we really should have just let you talk to her," Jaime told Tyrion.

"Get out!" he yelled, as Sansa struggled to break free of his firm grip. "Both of you! The two of you cause enough problems for _seventy-seven_ kingdoms."

After Jaime and Cersei wisely made their retreat, and regicide was temporarily off the table, Tyrion released her, stepping back quickly.

Repulsed, hurt, enraged, and with no one else to vent upon, Sansa turned on her husband.

"Joffrey is your brother's _son_!" She screeched at Tyrion. "And you _knew_ it!"

"Sansa, I know you're upset-"

"_UPSET? __I __am __far __beyond__ '__upset__'__!_" Sansa couldn't _see __straight_. She wanted to scream, to weep, to throw something.

"-but try to calm yourself. Think of our child." His equanimity was even more infuriating.

"I will _not_ calm myself. You _knew_ about them! _How __could __you __not __tell __me?_"

"Because I predicted you would have _precisely_ this reaction. Besides, I didn't think any good would come of you knowing. Only a great deal of heartache, which I'd hoped to protect you from."

"It would bring me _heartache_ to know my father truly wasn't a _traitor_?"

Tyrion pulled a chair out from the dining table. "Why don't you sit down, and we'll discuss this. Calmly."

"I don't _want_ to-"

"_Sit __down_, Sansa. Surely you will find it just as easy to behead me from a seated position."

She sat, her lips pressed thinly together.

"Thank you." He took a seat in the chair beside her, rubbing the nape of his neck with one hand. "I was tiring of having to look up at you as you scream at me over something that isn't my fault. As far as I have been able to determine, my dear brother and sister have been…intimate since before I was born."

Sansa's eyes nearly fell out of her head. "What do you mean-"

"Just…don't ask. I admit it, I knew about the two of them, and I did not tell you. Nor did I tell you that Jaime is the father of Cersei's children."

"Do they _know_ that Jaime is their father?"

"No, and it will remain that way. You will not discuss any of this with anyone. Do you understand?"

"But Joffrey isn't the rightful-"

"I must not have made myself clear. You will not discuss this with anyone. You are my wife, and I expect you to show at least a modicum of loyalty to my House, the House of our future child. _Do __you __understand?_"

"Yes, my lord husband. I understand, my lord husband. Your loyalty to House 'Baratheon' is admirable, my lord husband." Sansa's tone was as sweet as summer wine.

Her ice blue eyes spoke the truth.

_The Others take you, my lord husband, if you think my child will believe the Starks were traitors._

Tyrion sighed, putting a hand over his face. "Is it any wonder I keep things from you?" he said, almost to himself.

"_What __other__ '__things__' __haven__'__t __you __told __me?_"

That finally seemed to rattle his composure. Sansa smiled at her small victory.

Tyrion gave her a measuring look before speaking. "Are you asking for my entire life story, or just whatever you might find relevant to our present circumstances?"

"Let us start with anything of relevance, and proceed from there."

"Well, perhaps you're already wondering about this, since you look over the accounts..."

Sansa blushed, embarrassed. "I'm not very good at managing the accounts. I just look over what the steward shows me."

Tyrion looked surprised, and more than a little concerned. "Did you at least notice the extra account?"

Sansa shook her head.

"Well then. We're going to be working on your accounting skills together this winter. Had you noticed the additional household, you might be wondering who that is. It's your uncle Edmure and his family."

"My uncle is _your __prisoner_?"

"More like my father's 'permanent guest'."

"Then who is in Riverrun?"

"My aunt Genna. And her husband." He paused. "Emmon Frey."

"You put a _Frey_ in _Riverrun_? My mother's _home_?" It took every ounce of Sansa's being not to jump up and start screaming again.

"Must you continually blame me for things I have absolutely nothing to do with? Personally, I think Emmon Frey is too incompetent to manage a brothel, let alone the Riverlands, but my lord father did not ask my opinion."

"I can't listen to anymore about Riverrun at the moment," she said brusquely. "What else have you neglected to tell me?"

Tyrion seemed very hesitant to go on. "Do you remember how I told you I never harmed your brother? Bran."

"_You __lied __to __me? __You __hurt __Bran?_" Sansa was out of the chair, screaming, before she even realized it.

"No, no, no. I never hurt him. I never wished him any harm at all. But…Jaime…well, the same could not be said of my brother. You see…"

After learning what had really happened to Bran, Sansa didn't think anything could calm her.

A number of hours, one smashed vase, countless declarations of hatred against House Lannister, and several burned books later, however, Tyrion finally managed it.

"You know, it could be worse."

"_Your __family __destroyed __mine! __How __could __it _possibly _be __any __worse?_" she asked through her tears.

"Can you imagine what it would be like if _Joffrey_ had a twin sister?"

Sansa just stood there in shock for a moment. She could imagine it. And she couldn't help herself. She just started laughing, right in the middle of her crying.

_At least he can make me look on the bright side._

"I told you it could be worse. Gods, what I would give to have seen your face when you learned about the Knight of Flowers."

Sansa's eyes opened wide. "What about the Knight of Flowers? _Is __Ser __Loras __sleeping __with __Margaery?_"

"When will I ever learn to keep my mouth _shut_?"

* * *

><p>"Boy!" Ser Jared Frey called out through the snowy trees to his squire, who was nowhere to be seen. "BOY! You bringing the wood any time this season? Make me wait much longer and you can starve tonight for all I care."<p>

Robert Frey, a scrawny boy of thirteen, finally returned to the camp and wordlessly lit a fire.

"About time! When I've been freezing my ass off all day, looking for Petyr Pimple and good-for-nothing Merrett, the very least I expect is my squire to show some alacrity when we make camp for the night."

First, Petyr had gone off. Then Merrett, who couldn't be trusted to cross the road without mucking it up in some way, had gone off to find Petyr. Neither had returned yet.

Jared wished he hadn't been called upon to haul his worthless half-brothers back home. They were nothing to him, but Walder Frey believed in taking care of his own, even the lackwits and the disappointments.

_Blood is blood._

Merrett was probably in some alehouse getting roaring drunk, Petyr with him.

_Blood is blood all right. _

Jared intended to beat the two of them bloody when he found them, for making him stomp around in the freezing snow after them.

The knight started to cook the rabbit they'd caught earlier. The boy watched him, hungrily.

"You aren't getting any. If you want to eat, don't make me wait so long next time."

The boy just stared, afraid to speak. His squire was too timid. Jared doubted Robert Frey would ever become a knight.

A wolf howled as twilight deepened into evening.

"I'm thirsty. Bring me the wineskin from my saddlebag."

His squire obeyed.

Jared took the proffered wineskin.

The boy slashed his throat before Jared even got a chance to see the knife held in the boy's other hand.

He couldn't scream. He couldn't even breathe.

He just watched in horror as his squire's face _rippled_, transforming into a girl's face.

She put it very close to his, smiling. Her eyes were cold, as if they had forgotten all memory of warmth.

"Today. Tell that to the God of Death when you see him. Tell him Arya of House Stark sends you, with her regards."

The darkness claimed him.

* * *

><p>Arya went to work on the body.<p>

Nymeria's eyes gleamed golden as she watched Arya from just beyond the fire's light. Her muzzle was already red with Robert Frey's blood.

Arya hacked through the thick muscles in Jared Frey's throat for several minutes, severing the head and setting it aside. She opened the body from neck to groin.

The red blood flowed out over the white snow, steaming in the cold.

Red and white.

Vengeance.

Arya ripped out the heart and tossed it to Nymeria, who caught it in mid-air and swallowed it whole.

By the time Arya was finished, she looked as if she had bathed in blood.

She stood, letting the knife fall to the ground.

"Nymeria." The direwolf came at her call, and quietly devoured what little remained of Jared Frey.

Arya retrieved Needle from where she had hidden it among the firewood, clutching it as a little girl might clutch her favorite doll at night, when the fire is out and the monsters are waiting in the darkness.

She sat down next to the large fire. She sat so close that the sticky blood coating her skin and clothing never got a chance to cool. Still, Arya shivered. The night was cold.

When the rabbit was cooked, she removed it from its skewer and began to eat, in the small, ladylike bites her mother had always tried to teach her.

* * *

><p>Tyrion could hear the faint strains of a lullaby, coming from everywhere and nowhere, as if across a great distance. The flickering shadows cast by the firelight danced to the half-heard tune.<p>

Sansa wasn't beside him in the bed, but that was alright. He didn't see her, but he knew she was close, somehow.

Cersei stood before one of the fireplaces, her back to him. Her golden hair drifted down the length of her grey gown.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I come here often."

It was not Cersei's voice.

This voice was unknown to him. But it was kind. Soft. Like the whispering of wings.

The woman turned, and Tyrion looked upon her face. It held echoes of merriment that would have made even the coldest heart smile.

Her emerald eyes spoke of stolen kisses, of sacred vows, of love that lasted till the end of Endless Summer. They spoke of a mother's laughter and a mother's tears. Most of all, her eyes spoke of a debt the Stranger had called due, far too soon. But she had paid it, gladly.

Those eyes seemed to see inside him, as if weighing him on a balance.

She spoke again, in that soft, silk voice, but with the strength of a lioness underneath.

"You are your father's son, Tyrion."

"No. Jaime is the son Tywin loves."

"But you are the son who will follow in his footsteps. Be better than your father. He died inside, when I had to leave him." She smiled then, but her eyes became a sea of sorrow. "I wish I could have cradled you in my arms. Just once."

"Who are you? Tell me," Tyrion demanded. "I want to hear you say it."

Instead of answering, she turned to look back down at the hearth, but he could see nothing there. She stretched her hand out in front of her, where there was nothing but empty air. She held it there. "Remember what the Starks say, Tyrion. It comes when you least expect it. I know that better than most. But remember what comes after it, too."

* * *

><p>Tyrion woke with a start. It was so early in the morning that it could still properly be called night.<p>

He couldn't help looking over at the fireplace, but of course the woman was gone. _She__was__never__there,__you__pathetic__fool._

Instead he saw his lovely wife, sitting on the carpet, in the place where his mother's gaze had fallen, where her hand had rested.

Sansa was singing a lullaby, her hands pressed to the great swell of her belly.

_"Sleep, little baby, sleep,  
><em>_While over you this watch I keep.  
><em>_Let golden slumber kiss your eyes.  
><em>_Smiles await you when you rise..."_

Tyrion watched her there, in her own private world.

This baby was everything to her. _For __the __first __time __since __her __father__'__s __death, __I __think __she __is __truly __happy._ Tyrion smiled at her happiness, and the fact that he played a part in it.

Sansa had finally forgiven him for keeping secrets from her. He hadn't told her about Tysha, though. Sometimes Tyrion felt guilty. But what could he say? That he'd been married to a whore for a fortnight? That the marriage had been dissolved, and that he'd fucked Tysha afterwards, along with all his father's guardsmen? Sansa didn't need such thoughts in her head, after everything she had already seen in her life. The guilt remained, though, and Tyrion just had to keep reminding himself that the subject would never come up.

Tyrion climbed out of the bed, and Sansa looked up as he went over to her. "The baby doesn't kick me very much anymore. Maester Creylen says that's because he's dreaming now." She was smiling.

With her seated like that, Tyrion was able to kiss the top of her head. He placed his hands over hers, over their baby.

"I love you, Sansa."

He waited for her to respond. She didn't.

"Why won't you ever say it? I know you feel _something_ for me."

"I don't know what I feel for you." She changed the subject. "What will we name him?"

Despite his lingering frustration, Tyrion laughed. "You keep calling the baby 'him'. What if it's a girl, Sansa? Melodi is a nice name."

"I carry a son," she said forcefully. "I want to name him Robb. Or maybe Eddard. But I think I like the name Robb better."

_Wonderful, Sansa, let us make Joffrey ready to murder the child sight unseen. Although, politically... And the look on my lord father's face if he heard the name Robb... _ Tyrion regretfully pushed that thought away.

"Sansa, perhaps we should think about less ... controversial names. What about Tybirius? Or Brandon?"

"As it please you, my lord husband." Her voice was as cold as the Wall.

"Stop it, Sansa. Don't play the courteous lady with me. You may choose any other name. Any name at all. How many husbands give their wives free rein in naming their firstborn?"

"My lord husband, you are too kind. I choose whatever name you choose." The Wall in the dead of winter.

Sometimes Tyrion never thought of Sansa's age.

Sometimes it was painfully obvious she was only fifteen years old.

Just now, it felt as if she had slammed the door of Castle Courtesy right in his face.

Tyrion sighed. He wondered what his marriage might have been like if Robb Stark had lived.

* * *

><p>The Twins awoke to the sound of Walder Frey's shouts and curses.<p>

A few of the more ingratiating sons rushed to their father's room, their swords drawn, but they were unprepared for the grisly sight that greeted them. Most of them vomited noisily.

Four grinning heads stared sightlessly from the window seat.

Petyr. Merrett. Robert. Jared.

Entrails decorated the room.

It was almost festive.

As if someone were preparing for a celebration.

* * *

><p>Jon reluctantly pulled away from his wife, breathless from Daenerys' fiery passion.<p>

"Truly, though, Dany," he said, once he was able to speak. "Something must be done. The Night's Watch is weak, and the Others-"

"-will stay beyond the Wall, for as long as it stands. If they really exist."

"Even if _you_ dismiss the threat so casually, I need to do something."

"And what is it, exactly, that you would do? You think you can go back to the Wall? In your own words, your sworn brothers tried to murder you, Jon. They even took your sword. Even if you could go back, what could you possibly do for the Night's Watch that isn't already being done?"

Jon paused to think for a moment, and Daenerys pounced on his hesitation.

"There are many brothers of the Night's Watch, but there is only one Jon Targaryen beside me. Viserion seems to have formed an attachment to you, but I need you to learn how to warg him. I need you to teach me, and Aegon. I need you to plan the conquest of the rest of the Free Cities before we turn to Westeros. I need you here, Jon. With me."

Her arms beckoned to him.

Jon realized he must choose.

_Daenerys or duty? Stay or go? Forsake my honor, or forsake my love?_

He wanted to tell his Queen that he had sworn an oath. He had his own war to fight, and he could not stay.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he could not speak.

The faces of everyone he loved swam before his eyes, overwhelming him. They were everyone he had left behind, because duty and honor had demanded it. Robb, who had marched south without him, never to return. Sansa, whom the Lannisters had claimed for their own. Bran, who was lost to him. Arya, who was lost even within herself. Rickon, who had died alone and afraid.

_Father. _Jon would always think of Ned Stark as his father. Some bonds were stronger than blood.

Most of all, he thought of Ygritte.

Her voice echoed in the deep recesses of his mind, where Jon had tried to bury her, in vain.

"_Let's go down inside, and join up with Gendel's children. I don't ever want t' leave this cave, Jon Snow. Not ever."_

He regretted not staying in that cave with Ygritte.

He looked into Daenerys' violet eyes, commanding him to stay.

_What is honor compared to a woman's love? Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. _

Jon was not strong enough.

He returned to the warmth of her embrace. He could not lose Daenerys, not on top of everyone else.

"My prince," she whispered in his ear. "Make me doubt you again, and I'll invite Aegon to join us for the night."

"I didn't know you desired Aegon's death, Dany," Jon growled as he pressed closer to her, possessively. "You need only command me, Your Grace, and I'll bring you his head."

"Without even your sword?" Daenerys laughed throatily. "Perhaps the wolf in you could manage it, but I would prefer you didn't. I'm rather fond of Aegon."

"Perhaps you want to be with him tonight then?"

Daenerys pushed Jon down onto the bed in response.

_Why __must __love __be __the __bane __of __honor, __the __death __of __duty? _ Jon had not believed Maester Aemon's words when he first heard them, and he did not believe them now.

Daenerys pressed her lips to the side of his neck as she caressed him.

With rational thought rapidly dwindling in the onslaught of his wife's fervor, Jon tried one last, desperate sortie to defend his honor. "I _will_ convince you that we must fight the Others, Dany. They are real."

Daenerys wasn't listening to him. Her kiss on his neck became harder. Hard enough to draw blood, and to mark him for her own. Jon tried to speak again, to make her listen, but the only sound he could manage was a low moan as her hands pressed against him.

He lost himself in the heat of her fire.

All thoughts of duty were driven away, like dead autumn leaves driven before a winter wind.

A light snow began to fall outside.

Meereen had not seen snow in over three hundred years.

* * *

><p>Bloodraven smiled, the merest twitch of his rotting lips. The movement was involuntary, a muscle memory from another life.<p>

The hour was late, but Brandon Stark had come to him at last.

He knew his appearance disturbed the boy. Sitting within the embrace of his weirwood throne, Bloodraven was more tree than man now, after so many decades spent in the timeless darkness under the earth. Roots ran through his body, growing out of his empty eye socket. Leaves sprouted from his skull.

He taught Bran in darkness, to make him feel more at ease.

Bloodraven preferred the darkness.

"Never fear the darkness, Bran. The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong."

With his one red eye, Bloodraven watched as Bran was wedded to the trees.

"The trees will teach you. The trees remember."

Time was short. Bloodraven watched eagerly as Bran mastered in a month what had taken him a year.

"A weirwood will live forever if left undisturbed. To them seasons pass in the flutter of a moth's wing, and past, present, and future are one."

Bloodraven watched as Bran's friends left him, and only the direwolf remained.

"Now, Bran, slip your skin again, but do not go into the roots this time. Let yourself float. Look beyond what the trees can show you, and tell me what you see."

"How do I just float?"

"Close your eyes, and focus your mind. Choose something familiar at first. Your family, if you wish. You may initially have difficulty controlling what you see. You may only see glimpses, and they may slip away from you like a leaf carried on a swift river."

Bloodraven used the lightest, most imperceptible of touches to brush the boy's mind, to guide his visions as much as possible.

"I see my father, and Arya, and Sansa. They're praying, but they aren't in the godswood at home."

Bran was smiling. _Good_.

"I see Jon." The smile broadened. "He's kissing a woman with silver hair. I see my mother, holding Robb in her lap when he was little. Robb is grown, and he's holding a woman in his arms."

_Yes, Bran. Look at them. Look at how happy they are. And now let me show you..._

"I see Winterfell, burning. I see...Arya. But it wasn't her at first, her face changed. And then she...she killed a man." Bran's expression became horrified. "Arya was _smiling_as she did it. Sansa's screaming, in pain. I see my mother, and Robb."

Suddenly Bran opened his eyes, shouting, "NO! No no no no no!"

"What did you see, Bran?" Bloodraven asked, even though he already knew.

"_I watched them die_," Bran sobbed.

"I am so sorry, Bran. Men can be cruel." He tried to make his voice sound sympathetic, but it had been so long.

"I don't want to look anymore today. I don't want to look right now."

"Of course. I understand."

Bloodraven understood very well.

Once he had been a man named Brynden Rivers, bastard son of Aegon IV.

He had remained loyal during the Blackfyre Rebellion, and he had lost an eye and won the name "kinslayer" for his efforts.

He had served faithfully as Hand, only to have the people whisper _sorcerer _behind his back. No matter that the rumors were true.

He had loved Shiera Seastar, his half-sister, an enchantress whose beauty was beyond compare. He had shared his bed with her. He would have married her, gladly.

When King Maekar raped Shiera and broke her mind, Bloodraven was enraged. He had tried to kill the king, but he hadn't been quick enough. They threw him in the Black Cells, and later condemned him to a life on the Wall.

He had risen high, to the position of Lord Commander. It was not out of any real devotion to the Watch, but simply because that was what he had always done. Rise.

But why guard the realms of men, when all his life men had feared and despised him? Why be the light that brings the dawn, when he had lost Shiera, his only light? Even justice had been denied to him.

Bloodraven deserted the Watch.

He found the Children of the Forest. He joined himself to the weirwoods, and that had only fanned the flames of his hatred.

_A weirwood will live forever if left undisturbed. To them seasons pass in the flutter of a moth's wing, and past, present, and future are one._

The trees remembered the Andal Invasion as if it were just now occurring. Every moment, they screamed in pain for the weirwood trees the Andals had cut down.

The trees remembered men's fears.

They remembered the War for the Dawn, when men had prayed in their godswoods for deliverance from the Others.

The trees remembered where the Others were sleeping, waiting for someone to call them from their long slumber.

Already middle-aged when he was sent to the Wall, Bloodraven spent the next seventy-five years employing every dark art he knew, to gain mastery over the Others.

But he was not strong enough to wake them all up, to take them south.

He needed help.

So he had watched House Stark for generations, waiting. The blood of the First Men was still strong in the Starks. They were special. They possessed abilities long forgotten in other men.

At last, Bloodraven had finally found his opportunity.

_"The things I do for love."_

Bloodraven had felt victorious as he watched Bran be pushed from that tower.

It would be so easy to turn him against the realms of men.

If Bran continued to learn at his current rate, it would only be a few years before he could control the Others. A few more, and Bran would be powerful enough to bring down the Wall and unleash the Others on humanity.

_The trees remember, and they will have their vengeance._

_Winter is here, and there will be no spring._

* * *

><p>The Casterlys outdid themselves when they carved their Stone Garden, so long ago.<p>

When Tyrion had been a boy, Jaime had teased that the Casterlys' garden had been real, once. The King of the Rock commanded the gods to save the godswood from the first winter frost. The old gods had obeyed, but not in the way the King wanted. They turned everything into white marble: every flower, every hedge, even the great weirwood tree with its arching branches and five-pointed leaves. No frost would ever wither a garden of stone.

Jaime had said it, and young Tyrion had believed him without question.

Tyrion still marveled at the intricacy of the carvings as he walked alone among them now.

He hadn't known where else to go.

A soft breeze blew in off the ocean, carrying the smell of salt. It picked up the snow on the ground, making it dance in little flurries. The stone branches above him did not stir.

The cold, night sky was clear for the first time in months. The full moon cast nearly enough light to read by. Tyrion looked up at the stars. Their light flickered, like countless candles on the altar of the world's greatest sept.

_Let them burn for her._

The maester had ordered him to get out. Tyrion felt like a craven, deserting Sansa in her bloody bed. He shouldn't have listened. But he was too terrified of making a blunder.

He approached the stone weirwood tree and looked up at its carved face.

"I don't pray very much," he admitted to its wise, old eyes. The thin red veins in the white marble gave the impression that it wept tears of blood. Over his impiety, perhaps.

"The Seven never hear my prayers anyway," he explained, defensively. "If they do, they don't give a damn about them. I refuse to waste my time listening to my father's septon blathering on about my many sins."

He took a deep breath, and started again.

"Humility isn't something we Lannisters are known for. Even among the least of us. But I beg of you to listen to me now. For this, at least."

He fell to his knees, praying to gods whose very existence he doubted. His prayers were as desperate as a pauper's cries, for that was what he was.

All the gold of Casterly Rock could not buy a healthy babe.

"Please, gods. Give me a son. A son who's strong and whole. A son who looks like Jaime, and thinks like me."

He went on, beseeching anyone who might be listening.

"Please, Stark, let your old gods grant me a healthy son. For your daughter's sake, if not for mine. For the North your grandson will rule some day, if your gods are good."

Long after his stunted legs cramped and burned, Tyrion prayed.

At one point in the night, he looked up. His squire was kneeling in prayer, a respectful distance away.

Tyrion couldn't spare much thought for Pod at the moment.

He felt desperate.

"Please," he whispered, "keep her safe." He forced himself to go on, to give voice to what he feared most. "Please don't let Sansa die."

* * *

><p>Tyrion watched the candles of night's altar gutter out one by one, as heaven slowly cast off her black gown in favor of another.<p>

Deep blue. _Like __the __color __of __her __eyes._

Grey. _Like __the __Stark __direwolf. _Like the winter storm clouds gathering to the north.

Pink. _Like __the_ _roses __in __her __cheeks_.

The brightness of the rising sun blinded him, and Tyrion had to turn his head away from its golden glory.

He saw his siblings, Jaime in his black tunic and trews, Cersei in her crimson gown.

"Tyrion-" Jaime began, but Cersei interrupted him.

"You're very good at this, you know," she told him, purring.

"Thanks." _Cersei, __actually __being __civil. _"Good at what?"

"Killing women in their bloody beds. First my mother, now that poor girl inside. Sansa screamed for _her_mother when Jaime made me check on her. Too bad we put Lady Catelyn's head on a spike."

Cersei's words ripped Tyrion's heart out. He lunged for his sister, but Pod was quicker, restraining him from kinslaying.

Jaime grabbed Cersei's arm and escorted her out of harm's way, calling out to Tyrion that he would return shortly.

_She's dead._

_Sansa was everything. Everything I ever wanted._

Pod fled past him, his head down, weeping. Had Tyrion not been so consumed by his own grief, he might have understood why.

_I wanted simple things. A wife. Children to raise. Lands to rule. To love, and be loved._

_I wanted a life to live._

_But I never even heard her say "I love you." She died angry with me. She didn't even know... She suggested the right move, had I been wise enough to realize it then. It all would have been perfect._

_Dwarf, did you really think the gods would call off their jape and let you cast off your motley? What would they do for amusement then?_

He wanted to rage at someone. He almost went after Cersei.

"Damn you, Ned Stark!" he roared at the sky. "Damn you, and damn your old gods! I hope you're rotting in some frozen hell!"

Tyrion knew what that felt like. He was in hell himself. He felt so cold. As if his heart had stopped pumping. Or as if he had no blood at all.

_My father has the right of it. Always draw first blood, and keep drawing it, but never let anyone get close enough to make you bleed._

His brother eventually returned, alone.

"Jaime," he said calmly, "the maester who last attended our lady mother. You said

Father locked him in the lions' cage. Tell me, were the midwives spared? No, it matters not, I'll do as I please. What does any of it matter now that Sansa is dead?"

"She's not dead, Tyrion."

_I'll __do __you __one __better, __Father. __I __will __kill __the __Stranger __him-_ "WHAT?"

"Judging by her screaming, I'd say she's alive. At least she was when I started searching for you, over an hour ago. This was a stupid time for a game of peak-and-sneak."

Tyrion was in shock. "Cersei said-"

"She never said Sansa was dead."

"Then why did she say-"

"Cersei was sparring with you. As usual." Jaime was looking at him askance. "I

thought you knew that."

Tyrion felt a bit murderous, but Jaime went on before he could say anything.

"I came looking for you to say I think you should be with her."

"Maester Creylen and the midwives said I shouldn't go in. They said I would just be in the way."

"And you _listened_ to them? When I was told I wasn't allowed in the birthing room with Cersei, I smiled and asked who proposed to keep me out."

That was enough for Tyrion.

He moved as quickly as his aching legs would allow.

He could hear Sansa screaming even from outside the closed door to their rooms. He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for a battle, and he went in.

One of the midwives was coming through door to the bedroom, carrying a bundle in her arms. When the woman saw Tyrion, she smiled. "My lord, you have a son."

"_Then __why __is __my __wife __still __screaming?_"

* * *

><p>Sansa opened her eyes. She was so tired, just that simple act was an ordeal. It was a struggle not to close them again.<p>

The two-day-long ordeal was hazy to her now. She tried to make her way through the heavy fog of her memory, trying to remember.

Pain, but that memory was growing blessedly dim.

A woman in grey, placing a cooling hand on her brow. _The __Queen._

Tyrion coming to her.

Something one of the women had said. That was the important memory.

"_My lord, you have a son."_

She needed him. She needed her baby. She felt so empty without him.

She forced her eyes to move around the room, and found Tyrion, asleep in a chair to her left, his clothes rumpled.

"Tyrion." Her voice was very weak, but he was such a light sleeper, he woke immediately.

"Sansa. How are you feeling? Are you-"

"I want my son."

He smiled at her then, a mischievous smile, like he knew something that she didn't. All he said, though, was "I'll be right back," and that was all that mattered to her.

"Sansa. Sansa, my love." She must have closed her eyes for a little while, because Tyrion was standing beside the bed, off to her left, shaking her gently. He was smiling proudly, but Sansa only had eyes for the golden-haired babe that was cradled in a nursemaid's arms.

"My sweet lady wife. May I present our son, Tyrelius Lannister."

Tyrion took the baby, as carefully as spun glass, and placed him by her side.

Tyrelius was beautiful. Ten tiny fingers. Ten little toes. Sansa was mesmerized by the rhythm of his strong breathing, his small chest rising and falling regularly. As if sensing who she was, he smiled and opened his eyes. One was green, the other grey. She didn't care. He was her golden lion cub. He was _hers._ She could have stared at him forever.

But Tyrion wasn't finished.

He moved around to the other side of the bed, beckoning her to look. It took everything Sansa had to turn her head to her right.

The sight that greeted her was worth the effort, a thousand times over.

"And may I present our firstborn. Robb Stark."

If Tyrelius was beautiful, Robb was perfect. Sansa could see her father in him. When her husband placed the baby beside her, she started crying.

Tyrion misunderstood. "I thought the name would make you happy. I decided the first step to rebuilding Winterfell - to stabilizing the North - would be to attempt to heal some fresh wounds. To give the Northmen their liege lord back, as much as I am able to. If you prefer the child be named something else, though..."

That just made Sansa cry harder.

"No," she said through her tears. "No, I don't want-" She couldn't stop sobbing. "I don't want him named anything else."

Tyrion dismissed the nursemaids and climbed up on the bed beside his wife, holding baby Robb in his arms.

"I love you," Sansa told Tyrion, for the very first time.

She meant it, with all her heart.

* * *

><p>The snows conquered kingdom after kingdom, slaying Memories of summer and raping Hopes of spring. Fear and Famine and Death followed like whores after an invading army. Armageddon waited beyond the Wall.<p>

At long last, Winter triumphantly ascended his icy throne. The tyrant's claim was undisputed, his rule absolute. He banished the battalion of Stars, beheaded the treacherous Moon, and imprisoned the seditionist Sun, proudly proclaiming the death of Light.

Kings and Queens and Players bent the knee and begged for Winter's pardon. The fires of their war for the Iron Throne burned low in the shivering darkness.

An ice storm besieged the great fortress of Casterly Rock. Relentless winds screamed wordless battle cries, hurling frozen daggers with the strength of a thousand trebuchets.

Ocean waves became battering rams against the Rock's base. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding.

But inside Casterly Rock...

Inside, every candle burned, silent sentinels guarding against the raging night. Lions

feasted on High Summer, roaring in defiance of the cold king on his cold throne.

Minstrels raised their voices in paeans of Life's twin victory.

Inside, the Lord lay next to his Lady, watching over her as she dreamed, sweet dreams of spring. Between them, the Red Wolf and the White Lion slept peacefully, entwined in each other's tiny arms.

Inside, it was warm.

Warmth is the death of Winter.

* * *

><p>TO BE CONTINUED<p>

* * *

><p>I would just like to take a moment to savor that image, there. A family, safe and loving and warm, despite the darkness in the world around them. That's the most beautiful thing in the world. I cried. I really cried.<p>

The name _Tyrelius_ rhymes with the name _Marcus __Aurelius_. Just so you know.

I really like the idea of a Stark matrilineage.

I will never abandon this story. But with finals and holidays coming up, I doubt I will get the next chapter up before late January. I'm sorry. Happy holidays, everyone.

Until next time…


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